


my life in your hands

by LilyEllison



Category: Daredevil (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, Of Daredevil, Post-Season/Series 02, Post-Season/Series 03, of the punisher
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2020-01-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:47:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22174300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilyEllison/pseuds/LilyEllison
Summary: They're both out of breath and snarly as dogs at this point in the bout. Matt would be relishing it, in a grim kind of way, if his stomach wasn’t in knots.The copper of Frank’s blood wafts in the air and sparks on his tongue, metal clashing against the familiar steely scent of him, the scorched residue on his skin screaming fire and powder and death. Frank is the taste of despair.Written for the Daredevil/Defenders 2020 New Year’s Day Exchange.
Relationships: Frank Castle/Matt Murdock
Comments: 25
Kudos: 128
Collections: DDE’s 2020 New Year’s Day Exchange





	my life in your hands

**Author's Note:**

  * For [notmadderred](https://archiveofourown.org/users/notmadderred/gifts).



> A pinch-hit gift for [notmadderred](https://archiveofourown.org/users/notmadderred). I wrote this quickly and it's my first Fratt, so apologies if it's not what you wanted.

The concrete burns like hell.

Matt hits the decidedly unfriendly surface of the roof hard, getting scraped to shit as a result of Frank's lucky blow — a solid hit that Matt should have been able to evade.

He wonders, not for the first time, if he's holding back. He wonders if _Frank_ is holding back.

Who the hell knows. He's feeling more than a little lightheaded. But he's come here tonight to fuck up The Punisher's plans, and he's accomplished that, so what's the harm of a little extra violence between — what would Foggy call them? Frenemies?

No. Foggy doesn't know enough to label this. There probably isn't a label for this.

Matt gets to his feet easily, back to fighting stance, but Frank holds off. They're both out of breath and snarly as dogs at this point in the bout. Matt would be relishing it, in a grim kind of way, if his stomach wasn’t in knots.

The copper of Frank’s blood wafts in the air and sparks on his tongue, metal clashing against the familiar steely scent of him, the scorched residue on his skin screaming fire and powder and death. Frank is the taste of despair.

Matt’s considering another strike anyway, just to do something with all the tense energy building up inside him, when Frank speaks.

“We really gotta do this dance again, Red? Thought we learned the steps the last time.”

“Things change,” Matt responds. “For one thing, I’m pretty sure I’m not wearing red anymore.”

Frank huffs, not quite a laugh. “Never thought I’d say this, but...not a great choice on your part. Makes it even easier to kick your ass.”

Matt tilts his head with a tight, sarcastic smile. “The armor was nice.”

“I don’t mean the armor. I mean it’s easier to focus when I’m not giggling like a little girl at those horns.”

Matt chuckles despite himself. “Something else must be pulling your focus, then. Because my ass is still intact.”

Frank makes a low, rumbly sound that prickles over the back of Matt’s neck. “Well, even though you pissed me off” — Matt arrived on the roof just in time to ruin Frank’s carefully lined-up shot into a neighboring building, and the prey is long gone now — “I guess I’m just not in the mood, to be honest.”

“You want me to leave you alone? It’s simple. Stop killing people.”

Frank grunts, and there’s an eye roll embedded in it somewhere.

“You’re losing it. Those gang kids? Tricking them with a truce?” Matt shakes his head. “This isn’t about your family anymore. You need to stop before….”

“Before what?”

* * *

Three months. It was three months ago now that Frank Castle blared through his life like a siren again. Not that Matt hadn’t thought about him, during his long, dark night of the soul, not that he hadn’t wished…

But after everything that happened with the Hand, and Elektra, and the collapse, and then Fisk’s return, Frank had been just a simmer left on the backburner. He’d ceased to be a problem for Matt to solve — not that Matt could solve anyone’s problems, least of all his own.

But then Frank’s name had been everywhere again, just a few months after Nelson, Murdock & Page had gotten up and running. The ink was still fresh on their business cards. And then there had been Karen, sheepishly confessing under Foggy’s sharp questioning that she’d used one to get access to Frank in the hospital and help him escape police custody.

Foggy had gotten pieces of the story from Mahoney — who wasn’t about to forget a barefooted Karen Page roaming the hospital’s hallways.

“He needed my help. He didn’t do what they thought he did,” Karen told Foggy, tears heavy in her voice, and an odd pain flickered through Matt’s chest. He hadn’t known it went that deep, with them.

Still, he told himself he’d stay out of it, stay away from Billy Russo and Frank’s vendetta. He didn’t _condone_ it, but...

But then.

Those kids. They weren’t actually children, of course, just young men. And Matt was sure none of them were saints. But it was different. It was arbitrary. It wasn’t justice, or even revenge, it was...punishment.

And Matt was beside himself — at first, with rage, the kind that blinded men who could see. He ripped through the streets, prowling for information; he cornered Karen, who didn’t know anything; he hunted like an animal in the night. But by the time he found Frank, the fire of his fury had gone out.

The man who just months ago had pledged to consider a life without fear was scared shitless, now. Because they were going to lose him. Forever.

Frank had crossed the rubicon. There was no one left to pay for the deaths of his wife and children, so he was aiming at the world at large. And someday soon, it was going to destroy him for good.

* * *

“Before you break, Frank,” Matt says. “Isn’t it weighing on you? Cutting yourself off...it messes with your head. How long before you can’t even trust yourself anymore?”

“Dunno,” Frank says. “Ain’t got there yet.”

Matt licks his lips, steeling himself as he starts digging for shit he’d prefer to leave buried. “I know that I don’t...that I don’t know what it’s like to be you. But I do know what it’s like to lose all hope. To think that the best thing you can do for the people you love is to stay away from them.”

Frank lets out a long-suffering sigh. “Ah, c’mon, choirboy. Don’t give me this like your life is hard. Not when you get to be with her every day.”

Matt’s bewildered for a moment at the sudden change in direction, but then he gets it. “Karen.”

“At least one of my lawyers is still bailing me out,” Frank says ruefully.

“Yeah, the one who never took the bar,” Matt says, with a little smile. “She’s good at that, though,” he adds, thinking of the hazy-woozy sound of a crucifix connecting with the maniac wearing his suit.

“That she is,” Frank agrees. “But that just means she’s trouble. You better be taking care of her.”

There’s something in there, an implication that twists in Matt’s gut. “We’re just friends.”

“You’re just idiots.”

“Probably. We can’t seem to give up on lost causes.”

“That’s right. A lost cause. So why don’t you just leave me be?”

“You know why.”

“Can’t give it up. I actually tried that for a bit, if it makes you feel better. Didn’t work out.”

“You don’t have to stand by and do nothing. But you don’t have to rack up a body count in the quadruple digits, either.”

Frank’s been dancing this whole time, shuffling, fidgeting, moving. But suddenly he’s still. “We could go upteen more rounds of this, so let’s just cut to the end, alright?”

Frank pulls out a pistol and sets it on the ledge at his side before taking a few steps back. He gestures to it, a challenge. Always guns with this asshole. The pistol radiates heat from Frank’s body. It smells like despair.

“Only one way to save me. Let your god sort me out.”

Matt walks closer. His earnestness has never really worked on Frank, but action might.

When Matt’s just a few steps away, he trails his fingers lightly over the gun as a feint and pulls off his mask with his other hand. He tosses that at Frank, never missing a step.

Frank catches the fabric against his chest just as Matt finishes closing the distance.

“What’s this about?” he asks, caught off guard.

"Thought it might get in the way." Matt's hand slides around Frank’s neck and he tugs, pulls Frank's face close to his. “Of this.”

Frank stiffens at his nearness, and Matt starts to back off, he’s not going to force it, but then Frank is jerking toward him and Frank's mouth is pressed hot against his.

And Frank’s _mouth_ doesn’t taste like despair. No, it’s — minty toothpaste and morning coffee for two and lazy afternoons on the couch drinking beer. Hope is a thing with cushions. And Frank has strong shoulders to lean on and hands big enough to—

Matt’s needy and panting by the time they break apart.

Frank makes a sound that is half-chuckle, half-scoff. “Saint Matthew,” he says huskily, shaking his head, clearly drawing some wrongheaded conclusions.

But Matt isn't done. "You’ve got it wrong. I’m not trying to save you. Only you can do that. I’m just...making you aware of all your options."

Frank is still clutching the mask in his fist. Matt lifts his hand and frees it, gently uncurling Frank’s fingers with his own. Matt’s gratified to hear Frank’s breath hitch, to feel him shiver, just a little. He’s probably not even aware of it.

“You know where to find me, Castle.” Mask back in place, he leaves the rooftop more than a tad dramatically, scooping up Frank’s pistol as a parting shot.

Frank doesn’t react until Matt’s a whole building away.

“See you soon, Red,” he says.

His heart is steady — boom, boom, boom — and it sounds just like a promise.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt: [“Kill of the Night”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eBV2gN3eEbE) by Gin Wigmore. It’s not very faithful to the mood of the song, but the lines about hearing “the boom, boom, boom of your heart” and tasting “the way that you bleed” made an appearance, at least!


End file.
